by Matt Shaw
You act like you really want a woman and you drive them away.
You act like you don’t want them, within reason, and you pull them closer.
A tried and tested method.
Have you ever tried dumping a girl you don’t like just for her to get even more clingy? They text constantly and resort to non-stop ringing when you refuse to answer their pathetic texts.
My foot presses down on the accelerator and I slowly begin to gather speed.
Wait.
Stop.
Slow down.
My foot switches to the brake and my car slows a little.
I don’t want to give her whiplash.
We’re heading down the main road now, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going through her mind...
* * * * *
Who is this asshole behind me and why does he insist on driving so close to my tailgate. Can he not see the L-Plates or is he just choosing to ignore them?
“Ignore him,” said Sam - sensing my concerns over the following driver. “Just concentrate on what’s in front of - change gear...” I change gear, “concentrate on what’s in front of you.”
I wish I knew what was in front of me. I’ve missed Sam and the Sam that’s picked me up from work - he’s the fun Sam. He’s the Sam that I loved once upon a time... No, he’s the Sam that I love. I love him. The fun, the laughter, his cheesy grin - everything that I love and missed about him. Meeting up with him again was a good thing to do.
“Turn right up here,” he said, “I’ve got something to show you.”
I reach down for the indicator and flick the lever, turning the indicator on as instructed.
“Start braking,” he said. I gently put my foot down on the accelerator. “Okay, brake harder,” he continued. Was that panic in his voice? I press harder on the accelerator and we more or less stop. The car behind me must surely be inches away from my bumper now. I wonder what’s going through the idiot’s mind.
* * * * *
Fuck me, that was close.
9
She’s been inside the house for over an hour now. I don’t even know why they even had to drive a car here - it’s only around the corner from the supermarket where she worked. They could have easily walked that.
Her secret lover, I wonder, does he even know what a carbon footprint is?
Probably not.
Probably has other things on his mind; like how to steal another man’s girlfriend.
Not that she was my girlfriend.
But she could have been.
I should just go. No woman is worth this. It was obviously never meant to be.
Go.
Go home.
Gather your thoughts, get over it, go and find someone else. I shrug to myself and take hold of the key that still sits in the car’s ignition. Fuck her.
I don’t turn the key.
The car’s engine doesn’t spit into life.
Why should I go? Why should I allow her to get away with treating me like a mug? Who does she think she is? She’s lucky I’m not a monster otherwise I’d have no option but to hit her; show her you can’t treat me like that.
The bloke, though...
A smile spreads across my face and I turn the car key. The engine spits into life and I pull away from the pavement. I don’t need to see her leave the house. I know what needs to be done and now isn’t the time.
This also proves my theory - outside interferences ruin the ‘potentially perfect’. I just can’t believe that they’re ruining our chances before we’ve even become a proper couple! Still, it’s not too late to fix this. I will fix it.
Soon.
* * * * *
“I’ve missed you, babe.”
I can’t help but feel I’ve made a mistake as I watch him from the relative comfort of his bed; he’s standing in the doorway of the en-suite bathroom - cleaning himself, rather unromantically, with a wet-wipe.
“Tissue?” he holds a wet-wipe in my direction.
I can feel his semen trickling out of me. A wet-wipe seems pointless. I feel as though I’ve let myself down. This is exactly what happened last time; he heard I was with someone else, got in touch, promised me that he had changed, won me back with his charm and then disappointed me - again - by proving nothing had changed. How did I end up here? How have I learnt nothing?
He ran back into the room and jumped, naked, back onto the bed, next to where I lay - also naked; my clothes thrown, mixed with his, on the already cluttered floor.
“We’ll get it right this time, babe. You know what they say, third time’s a charm.” He leant over and pressed his hand between my legs, “And I definitely missed this!”
I shuddered. Already he’s becoming the asshole I originally left. The fun, sweet man turning into the ignorant male chauvinistic pig. Why do I always fall for the act?
“Give it a couple of minutes and I’ll go again,” he said as he leant back down on his pillow and shut his eyes.
Get out of there, Susie. Get dressed and get out of there. I don’t move, though. I just lay there, a cold wetness underneath me, looking at him. Why do I find it so hard to ignore him - I should never have let him back in my life, after I originally left him. He must think I’m easy.
Look at me.
I am easy.
A fucking slut.
I hate myself.
I sit up.
“Where you going?” he asks. I look at him - he hasn’t even opened his eyes.
“I have to go.”
“Go? No, you don’t. Lay back down; I told you - give me a couple of minutes and we’ll go again. See if I can finish you off.” He laughs.
Seriously - what have I done.
“I have to go.”
I climb from the bed and start moving around the bedroom, picking up my various items of clothing, “I really have to go - I’m sorry.”
“What’s wrong, babe, why you getting your knickers in a twist?”
I step into my panties. They should never have come off in the first place.
I really do hate myself.
“This was a mistake,” I tell him truthfully.
“What the fuck are you talking about? You had fun didn’t you?”
Not really.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to keep him calm. His temper was another reason I left him originally. I don’t need to see that again.
Or feel it.
“Ah well,” he said, “do as you please. You think your new boyfriend will be impressed that we’ve just fucked?”
I put my bra on, “What?”
“You think he’ll be pissed?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your new boyfriend - do you think he’ll forgive you when he finds out?”
I step into my trousers, speeding up now just so I can get out of the house, “I don’t have a boyfriend. Not you. Not anyone.”
He laughs, “Especially when he finds out about us.”
I pick up my top and throw it over my head, “Do what you want, Sam, I don’t care. I’ve had one date with Peter...”
“Oh, Peter, nice name....”
I ignore him, “I’ve had one day with Peter and already decided, before I saw you again, that he wasn’t for me. So you do whatever you need to do...”
“Well, you’re a catch so I think he’ll be pretty upset you don’t want to see him anymore. I know, I’ll tell him about us just to help him get over you. You know - a lucky escape. He could have ended up with a right slut.”
“Fuck you!”
I surprised myself. In the past, I would never have dared speak to him like that.
“I said, babe, give me a few more minutes and you can.”
And here he is - the boy I left.
I storm from the room, without looking back, and head down the stairs towards the front door. I want to cry but I can’t. Not yet. I’m so disappointed in myself - I hate what I’ve done - but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me upset. Once a
gain I’d fallen for his lies.
Never again. I mean it this time.
I open the front door and step out into the daylight.
Roll on tomorrow. Put today behind me.
I wish I could put the blame on Jackie, for this, but I only have myself to blame.
I slam the front door behind me with such force I hear the windows shake.
Fuck him. For all I care, he can drop dead.
* * * * *
It’s dark now but that’s a coincidence.
I didn’t plan to come back here in the dark. I’ve spent the last couple of hours planning what to say to him. The last couple of hours telling him - whoever he is - to back off because she’s with me now. I couldn’t just come here, unprepared. That would lead to getting flustered and more chances of being laughed at.
I’m not here to be laughed at.
I know I should just walk away from Susie but there’s something about her that I can’t seem to move away from.
I want her.
I need her.
I’m going to have her.
And whoever this boy is.... he’s not going to stand in my way.
I’ll knock on his door, say what I have to say and then that’s it. He’s gone. I’m gone. One less outside interference to ruin what I could potentially have with Susie. One less outside interference to pull us apart before we even get together...
But I know it won’t end there.
I need to get her alone sooner rather than later. I can’t allow anymore possibilities of things getting in the way. The sooner it’s just her and me - the better.
Need to step my game up if I’m serious about her.
And I am serious.
I cross the road, heading towards the house where I left her earlier.
I hope he’s home alone or this could get ugly.
I know she isn’t there - my Susie - I had a quick stop by her house earlier and saw her at the window. She’s safe and sound at home. Can’t guarantee he doesn’t have any other friends visiting though.
Fingers crossed he doesn’t.
I don’t even hesitate when I get to the front door - I just ring the doorbell and then slide my hand in my pocket.
A look around behind me, to see if anyone is watching me.
No one about.
Good.
Don’t fancy an audience for what I have to say.
I can’t hear movement from within so bang the door harder before putting my hand back in my pocket.
Footsteps.
He’s coming.
This is it.
I mentally whiz through what I have to say - just to be sure I have it right. Save the embarrassment of getting it wrong face to face.
The door opens and he’s stood there - Susie’s mystery man.
“Yeah?” he says.
I hate him.
“Fuck you!” I whisper.
“What?”
Before he can say anything else, in a swift movement, I push him back into his house with my spare hand, stepping in with him, and pull a knife from my pocket. He doesn’t have time to respond before I plunge it straight into his heart.
The shocked look on his face is priceless - truly a Kodak moment - and I can’t help but smile as he drops to his knees; a funny gurgling noise spilling from his mouth. As I pull the knife from his bloodied chest, I kick back with my foot - kicking the door shut.
I don’t need any witnesses.
On his knees, his head is the perfect height and I thrust the knife into his eye-socket. His body does a weird, twitch and another noise I’ve never heard before comes from his mouth.
That’s it.
Game over.
She’s mine.
I stand up to my full height and cast my eyes up the stairs - no shocked onlookers on the top step.
Good.
Not sure how I’d explain this.
A quick look to my left, into his lounge - no one there either.
Another result.
A glance down the hallway - towards the kitchen - and no shocked onlookers there either. Looks like my timing was spot on.
Okay.
What to do.
First things first; curtains.
I walk into the lounge and pull the curtains - ensures no one can peer in and see anything they shouldn’t. I quickly walk through to the kitchen and pull the window blinds - again, stopping the potential for anyone to peer in.
There’s another door on the left hand side of the kitchen - a quick glance out reveals it’s the way to the garage. Thankfully it’s empty. I can do what needs doing and then back the car into the garage, to load it up.
No need to walk onto the driveway with bags of whatever-his-name-is.
I wonder what his name is.
Was.
I wonder what his name was.
No, I don’t.
Fuck him.
He had it coming.
I stop dead.
He had that coming but.... what does he have coming next?
I haven’t thought this far ahead.
Moments earlier, the happy thought of not having to take bits of him out onto the driveway in carrier bags pointed out two things I hadn’t previously thought of....
1) Bits of him. I can hardly cut him up with this knife.
2) I didn’t bring any bin bags.
10.
I’ve never seen such a poor arrangement of tools as I have in this garage.
Until my recent home improvements, I’d never been one for D.I.Y but - even so - I always made sure I had a garage full of tools on the off chance something needed to be fixed unexpectedly.
I mean, this is just weird, there are hanging spaces for the various tools - even pictures of what should be hanging on the hooks.... it’s just.... the tools are missing. Maybe, by trade, he’s a builder and he’s left them on a work site somewhere? More likely, when he bought or rented the house this set up had already been arranged and he simply put out what he had.
Even so, I couldn’t have done that. I would have needed to fill all the available spaces - matching them up perfectly with their picture counterparts. What sort of sorry excuse of a man was he?
Idiot.
I move to the back wall and thankfully find the piece I am looking for; a saw. It’s rusty and doesn’t look as sharp as it should do but I’m sure, with some effort, it will be what’s required of it. After all, how hard can it be to cut through bone?
I never thought I’d find myself pondering that.
It’s been a strange evening...
I take hold of the saw and yank it from it’s hanging space - leaving another blank space on the wall of useful equipment. I just need some bags now. I wonder where someone like this keeps their bags?
The kitchen.
That’s where I keep mine.
Near the swing-top bin, to be precise, so they are always within reach when the bin needs emptying. Surely that’s not just me, though. Surely that’s just common sense and everyone does the same; keeps their black bags near to the bin.
I remember who lives here.
‘Common Sense’ could be a big ask.
Regardless of my sudden doubts, I step out of his small garage and back into the kitchen. No obvious bin to be seen so I move towards the sink - presuming there will be one of those little pre-installed bins hiding in the cupboard underneath.
I open the cupboard - bingo - there’s the bin.
No bin-liner, though, it’s one of those small bins that’s only just big enough for a carrier bag.
Damn it.
I wonder, how many carrier bags would it take to dispose of a human body? And you can’t really trust them anyway. They’re too easy to split. The last thing I need is to be chasing his ugly head as it rolls away from me, down a busy high-street. Bad idea.
Maybe I should pop out to the supermarket and buy me some of those bags for life? They’re only ten pence and I’ve never had one of those split on me before now, even after I’ve really crammed
it various sized tins of food.
No.
Stupid idea.
Someone might come round and find him.
Why is nothing, in life, simple?
Forget the bag, for a bit, I can’t afford to run out of time. If the sun comes up I won’t have the cover of darkness to make my getaway. I’ll get the messy bit done and then worry about a bag - after all, there must be something I can use in this house to shift him from the scene.
I close the cupboard again and turn back to the body that’s waiting for me in the hallway. With saw in hand, I approach him - not entirely sure on the best way to tackle this.
I should have Googled it before I came out.
Google knows everything.
I sit on the bottom step of the stairs and look at the corpse I’ve recently made.
Okay.
Keep things simple.
Six pieces should be small enough. Start with the head - it’s creeping me out. Everywhere I go, it’s like the eyes follow me. Definitely start with the head. Then the arms and then the legs. Should I detach the feet and hands, I wonder. Is that over the top? Entirely necessary?
Fuck it - keep it simple. No need to overcomplicate things. Especially when time is against me. Six pieces will be fine.
I pounce from the bottom step and land, on my knees, next to his head.
He’s still looking at me.
Okay.
This is it.
I take the saw with my left hand and press it against his neck. I use my right hand to take a handful of his greasy-hair to help steady his head from rolling from side to side when I start sawing.
